The Bride of Blackbeard (25 page)

Teache had also been riding hard without
rest, so he had a purpose for this journey.

Abe covered his eyes as lightning flashed
and it began to rain. “Blast,” he uttered to the horse. It would be
near impossible to keep up, if this turned into a squall.

~ * ~

Constanza entered her brother’s bedroom and
gently shook him.

“Will, wake up. I have to go and tend to the
slaves in their quarters. Wake up now. Here is the musket. I want
you and Ben to go and sit by the fire ‘til I return. It should not
be long. Bolt the door behind me.”

Will sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Stanzy,
what’s going on?’

“I do not know, but you do not open for
anyone except Lucian or me. Understood?”

Quickly quitting the cottage, she splashed
through the muck and felt the cold water shoot under her dress and
down into her boots as the rain began to fall sidelong in
sheets.

“The place is cursed, ma’am,” yelled
Alphonse over the wind. “Almost everyone is sick, and some of the
animals, they are dying, too. It is because of Mr. Hopkins being in
league with the devil himself!”

“You mean Edward Teache? I know he is
wicked, Alphonse, but I hardly think he is Lucifer in human
form.”

“I been hearing stories down in the towns of
Teache's comings and goings. There is not an ounce of good in the
man, far as I can tell, especially after all he has put this farm
through. I am telling you I have been on this earth nearly eighty
years and that man is pure evil.”

Stanzy said nothing. She believed there was
definitely a God, and there was definitely evil as well in the
world. Her doubts as to her own sanity and reasoning ability
continued. Could a place really be cursed?

She hurried to keep up with Alphonse as the
rain poured on and on. When they finally reached the slave quarters
the first word that entered her mind when she unbolted the door
wasn’t curse, but
plague
.

Everyone was either throwing up or their
hands were violently shaking, Many covered their ears at the sound
of the creaking door.

“Something is making everyone sick. They are
not cursed,” she said to Alphonse.

She bent over a smallish boy, Joseph, a
little younger than Will. He was shaking more violently than the
adults, and his eyes reminded her of something important, but she
couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Joseph, can you hear me?” She gently lifted
him.

His mother lay close by on a cot and opened
her eyes at the sound of his name. Her hands shook as well, and her
lips mouthed silent words, but no sound issued forth.

Constanza sat beside her and cradled her
hand in her own. The woman motioned for Stanzy to come closer and
she leaned down to hear her whispers.

“Save my boy, Miss Stanzy.”

She squeezed the woman’s hand tight, pressed
her lips together and nodded.

“Write this word on the door and let no one
enter.” She handed Alphonse a slip of paper: QUARANTINE.

Sick at heart, she opened the door and
strode toward the barn. Upon entering, she put her hand over her
nose to ward off the stench. Something squished underfoot. Several
slaves knelt beside numerous dead carcasses of cows and sheep which
were already rotting. She glanced down to see what she’d stepped on
and her breath caught. Two of the pups from the litter lay dead on
the hay-covered floor, next to the yellowed water in their
bowl.

“Megan didn’t kill her pup. The water
did.”

Then it dawned on her...the yellow
water.

A hazy guess was forming in her mind and she
ran toward the house in the driving rain. She looked into the air
and saw that the sky was red, and inadvertently made a sound.

Unconsciously quoting the Bible, she said
under her breath, “And in the morning, it will be foul weather
today; for the sky is red and lowering.”

She ran full tilt to the main house. Unable
to maintain her balance, she skidded and fell in the water. The
wind played tug-of-war with a massive bough, until it splintered
with a resounding crack, like a wishbone. It winged directly toward
her head. Dropping with her face in her hands, it sailed over,
narrowly missing her.

“I hope tornadoes don’t lead the way,” she
murmured.

She knew from experience the power of
twisters that could arrive before or after the hurricanes on the
coast. She uttered a soft prayer against the elements.

She scrambled up and headed for the cellar
entrance to the house. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim
light. At least one hundred barrels sat on the dirt floor, some
cracked opened, and some sealed shut. Moving from one to another,
she searched until she found an empty one—one like those being used
to store water for the manor and for the livestock.

With a trembling hand she scooped some of
the water out and held it up to the candlelight. Sure enough, it
had a faint yellow glint that was so slight it wouldn’t be
perceptible in the barrel.

“It is the water. There is something in the
water from these barrels. They are contaminated.”

That was the last thought she had before a
beam struck her head and she collapsed like a rag-doll to the dirt
floor.

~ * ~

The hurricane winds bore down full force on
the Outer Banks. Lucian lowered his head against the pounding rain
as he rode on toward Hyde County. His coat provided little
protection as his water-soaked clothing clung to his skin. He
kicked the skittish horse hard and urged her on, encouraging her to
stay the course
despite
the storm.

News of the approaching storm had been
circulating, and he’d started for home as soon as the words were
out of the sailor’s mouth. It wasn’t the only thing about which the
old tar had been telling tales. He’d told him about the now
infamous Blackbeard the Pirate, whom Lucian could only assume was
none other than their very own Edward Teache.

Lucian wondered on the whereabouts of Abe
Hornigold and wished he knew how to locate the man.

When the plantation came into view, he
fought down the fear rising in his gut. As he watched, ancient
trees were hoisted from the soil like saplings, and loose boards on
the manor were flying into the air in all directions. The nearby
river had flooded its banks and he feared it would flow the whole
way to the farm.

Driving the mount on, he arrived at the
cottage, halting and sliding from the saddle in one motion. He
threw open the door.

“Ben! Will! Where are you?”

The boys yelled from under the floorboards.
“Pa! We are down here!”

“Thank you,” he whispered under his breath.
“Where is your mother?”

Will’s voice started to crack. “She left
about an hour ago. Something is wrong with the slaves and the
animals. She hasn’t been back since!”

Fate kicked him hard in the stomach.

No. It would not happen again. He wouldn’t
let it.

“Go to the main house, and get in the root
cellar. It is deeper. Go! Run!”

He shot out toward the slaves’ cabin and
stopped dead at the sign on the porch which read Quarantine.
Someone had placed it half under a barrel in an attempt to keep it
from blowing away. He kicked the front door which rocked open and
shut before its hinges gave way, sending it flying up into the
gale.

He entered and called, “Bess! Alphonse!”

They too had retreated under the floorboards
to the root cellar. He opened the door in the floor and Bess stood
on the steps looking up at him, near tears.

“Lucian, they is all sick, and now this
Cane! I don’t know how we will keep them all safe down here!”

“Where is Constanza?”

“Last time I saw her she was headed to the
barn.”

“Stay down there, Bess. We have rode out
worse storms than this one. I will be back.” He ran toward the main
house, mechanically dodging the flying debris barreling through the
air.

The manor contained three cellars, the root
cellar, a food cellar and what he now called the rum cellar. He
knew the family would either be in the food or root cellar, as
Hopkins had been able to hide the rum-running from Sarah up until
now.

He slipped on the rain-covered steps leading
to the rum cellar, landing with a crunch on his knees.

Panic, raw enough to make his head spin,
made him lose focus. His eyes squinted to adjust to the dark as he
bellowed, “Constanza! Constanza, you answer me right now!”

He shot down the barrel rows, his head
whipping back and forth in all directions.

Where was she?

And then he saw her.

She was sprawled between two barrels, her
head lying in a circular pool of blood. Her long hair drenched
crimson.

“No...no, no, no...” Dropping to a knee
beside her, he lifted her gently into his arms.

A ceiling beam lay nearby. He presumed it
must have fallen on her.

“Stanzy, please. Oh, have mercy, please.” He
put his hand to her chest, and felt her heart beating strongly. She
shivered from the cold.

“Lucian?” she said groggily.

“Yes, darling, it’s me. You’re going to be
all right. We have to get out of here, into the other cellars.”

“Lucian, the water is making everyone sick.
It is why Meg is sick.”

“All right, darling. We will take care of
it.” What was she talking about? Had the beam muddled her thinking
momentarily?

“Lucian, do not patronize me!” She sat bolt
upright out of his arms. With one hand she wiped at the blood on
her face. She froze to examine his expression. He was smiling.

“You are unbelievable,” he said. “Let’s go.
I don’t want to die in the middle of this cursed rum.”

“Lucian? What about Megan?”

“Oh, no. Come on.” He half dragged her up
the steps into the swirling winds.

They struggled to run against the driving
rain. The tempest pushed them about like leaves in a gale. He
opened the second storm cellar doors and peered into the gloom,
searching for what he already knew in his heart wouldn’t be
there.

His little girl.

~ * ~

Unable to hide his panic, Lucian demanded of
Hopkins. “Where is she?”

“It is a lost cause I am afraid, the top of
the second floor has already been whipped away, there is no way she
could have survived,” was his flat answer.

“You didn’t even look for her? Your own
child?” shrieked Stanzy. Sarah stood cowering behind her useless
husband.

Stanzy’s hair, matted with blood, flung
crimson droplets in all directions as she shook her head in
disbelief. Their sickening spattered pattern dotted the floor
beneath her.

They didn’t need to exchange words, Lucian
grabbed her hand and they bounded up the steps once again.

The sight in front of them was daunting. A
large hunk of roof lay on the manor lawn, blocking their way.
Heading around it, they stopped in shock. The remaining rooftop
rose and fell, flapping in the wind as if the storm had breathed
the house to life.

Cautiously, they entered through the front
door. It would do no one any good for them to run headlong without
thinking. The main entrance to the manor had caved in and the grand
staircase was blocked with debris and rubble.

Stanzy could barely hear, the storm outside
wailed like a banshee come to claim her victims. Lucian muttered
something imperceptible that was whisked away on the howling wind.
The only thing she could see was his mouth moving, forming the
words, “Please, no...”

He pulled her behind him to the kitchen.

Opening the door to the back stairwell
revealed it too had been partially damaged. They began digging
furiously through the mounds of splintered wood. A thunderous sound
from behind made them involuntarily cover their heads as a tree
limb crashed through the window in the kitchen, sending glass
slicing in all directions.

“Dig!” Lucian bellowed above the din.

Stanzy dug both hands into the pile, weeping
hysterically. Her mind felt rent in two at the horrible sadness of
it all. It was ready to snap, and if it did, she would never be the
same again. Clearing a very small space to see up the staircase, it
was obvious which one of them would need to enter the fallen
stairwell.

“Go find her. Hurry! I am sure the eye of
the storm will be here at any minute.”

Lucian hoisted her up and she slid through
the top of the pile of rubble. The scene at the top of the stairs
gave her pause. Half of Megan’s roof was blown away. The gaping
hole resembled a yawning mouth; blackened storm clouds swirled
directly above in the night sky. Smaller pieces of furniture took
flight, revolving slowly in the updraft, whisking out the hole into
the tornado. Her dolls rose in the air in a macabre waltz, before
they too careened out of sight through the open ceiling.

Stanzy crawled her way over downed planks
and tree boughs littering the nursery floor. Water poured in from
the sky in a deluge, as if the heavens had opened for a second time
to allow a second flooding of the earth. The tempest seemed poised
just above the mansion.

Megan’s heavy wardrobe still stood in the
corner of the room, albeit it had moved a few feet. Frantically
searching about the room, Megan was nowhere in sight.

Where are you? Where are you? Please
Megan
...

Stanzy fought her way toward the huge
cabinet and tugged at its monstrous doors. They wouldn’t budge. She
furiously looked around the room for something with which to pry
them open, but everything useful was gone from the room.

Then she heard it. Whimpering from inside
the wardrobe.
Thank you, God!

Constanza screamed into the wind. “We are
here Megan, we are coming!”

The doors rattled as Megan’s tiny fists
pummeled against it.

Stanzy made her way back across the debris
to the hole. She yelled down to Lucian, “I can’t get into her
wardrobe, find me something to pry it open!”